Tom Talks

Pumping iron, New Jersey style

Walk into the gym near the hotel and even if you didn’t know you were in New Jersey, you’d know you were in New Jersey. Two trainers stand by the door, each with his hair piled high. The guys look like Vinnie Barbarino in "Welcome Back Cotter."

In the weight room, an older guy invokes Broadway and talks about his good friend Christopher Walken. Thing is, the guy that talks about his good friend Chris is working his triceps, and he’s in the middle of a set.

Never believe anybody that can talk in complete sentences while he or she is in the middle of an exercise. The guy would fit great with the women back in the gym I use in Ballantyne. He could talk without breathing hard about his buddy Chris, and they could talk without breathing hard, for 30 minutes or 60 or more, about day care, schools, the new room, the new driveway, the pain of remodeling and kids, 40% of which are named Carson, Carleton or Carsten.

The best thing about the New Jersey gym is that everybody cleans up after themselves and even returns the weights where they’re supposed to go. The only guy that fails to wipe his sweat from the elliptical machine he uses wears a Georgetown shirt and, I suspect, is in town to watch the Hoyas tonight against Vanderbilt. In other words, he ain’t from around here.

As I walk out, I ask the woman behind the desk if she could recommend an Italian restaurant in the neighborhood. Before she does, one of the Vinnie Barbarino looking trainers says, "Vinnie’s."

"Don’t listen to him," says the woman. "He just likes it because that’s his name."

Tubby can be 'merely good' at Minnesota

When I heard that Tubby Smith was going to Minnesota, my first thought was Timberwolves.

If Smith thought there was pressure at Kentucky, wait until he discovers Minneapolis, Minnetonka and Morris, St. Paul, Sauk Center and Shakopee.

No matter what the man does, he will forever be measured against Gopher coaching legends such as Clem Haskins, who named a daughter Clemette, plus whoever the last two guys were.

Expectations will be unreal. Every season fans will demand that the Golden Gophers win 40% of their Big Ten games, and every third season fans will demand that Tubby take his team to the NIT.

I spent four years at the school, and grew up supporting its teams. I’m not aware of anybody who won consistently without cheating.

Commentators and columnists nationally are ripping Kentucky fans for their tepid support of Tubby. I won’t. We’re talking about Kentucky. The Wildcats are supposed to be elite, and Tubby was merely good.

If you think fans at North Carolina basketball are any more forgiving, call Matt Doherty.

Meeting Buffalo Joe a win-win situation

A big guy walked into the bar at Buffalo Niagara International Airport. Joe DeLamielleure, the Hall of Fame NFL lineman and longtime Charlotte resident, wasn't drinking. He wanted a chicken sandwich and a salad and a diet soft drink while he waited Saturday afternoon for his flight to Charlotte.

I started with a chicken sandwich, too. But since my flight the previous day had been canceled, and since we were told this one also could be, and since the next flight to Charlotte with open seats was not for two more days, I needed something stronger than a diet soft drink.

As we waited, Joe and I talked about renting a car and making the 101/2-hour drive back to Charlotte. But since we'd have to go through the middle of the storm, we stayed in the restaurant instead.

I knew that Joe, who used to block for O.J. Simpson, was a big deal in Buffalo. But I had no idea how big. People stared and whispered, and one woman offered her hand and said she had met him four years ago and wasn't he great.

"I sense you get recognized here more than in Charlotte," I said.

"Just a little," Joe said.

Joe – his last name is too tough to spell – just turned 56, but folks in Buffalo remember his hard work (he insisted on playing on special teams) and his lack of pretension. As we sat and watched basketball, a woman walked up, apologized about six times for interrupting and asked for an autograph.

She understands. Had Joe been eating, she would have known not to approach. Athletes are entitled to eat in peace, too. There was a modesty and a grace about the woman. Joe opened his gym bag and pulled several Joe D football cards out – he was in Buffalo for an autograph show – and the woman was thrilled when he signed them.

Everybody that approached Joe was courteous and deferential, which they ought to be, because they were asking for a favor. Nobody was going to sell the signature on eBay. Joe was part of their lives, a player who loved being a Buffalo Bill and playing in Buffalo. Fans know who is faking. Joe doesn't do that.

It can be awkward when celebrity and fans come together. It can also be warm. The fans wanted something to remember Joe by, and Joe wanted to give them something. Everybody won.

We continued to win after we left the bar. Although we landed about 5 hours after we intended, we made it back to Charlotte.

Held hostage in Buffalo

I am Patty Hearst.

I always thought it would be interesting to be snowed in. You know, an airport closed, a hotel nearby, pristine snow falling out the window, friendly people, cackling logs and a burning fire.

Man, was I wrong. My flight from Buffalo to Charlotte Friday was delayed once, delayed twice and then, after U.S. Airways had my luggage, canceled. By early afternoon, everything out of Buffalo was canceled. This was about 6:30 p.m. We had watched the snow in the distance and soon it was not in the distance anymore and we were in it. Should of worn a winter coat. But, it's March.

The first two hotels I tried were booked and then I found one. Despite the custom chopper workshop scheduled today, it had a room.

Ha! The cool thing about having no luggage is there's nothing to unpack. Wake up Saturday and you don't have to think, what should I wear? You don't have to feel guilty about not working out because you have no clothes to work out in. You also have no Internet access, despite what the advertisement claims, until you walk to the lobby and get on the computer system, limit 15 minutes per person, which is reasonable.

Without a chopper to customize, I spent my time walking around. Since the only place within walking distance is the gas station, I walked there. They sell the essentials, unless you consider hair gel an essential, which I no longer do.

The only thing to do Friday night was eat, drink and watch basketball. Since 45 of the 50 people in the hotel bar were watching the Buffalo Sabres, who like our Hurricanes are fighting for a playoff spot, I almost had the NCAA tournament to myself. I was pulling for Villanova against Kentucky, but have a friend who loves the Wildcats, so I could live with it.

That's the only game I missed Friday. I missed three games Thursday. I picked Winthrop in the picks I made in the Observer Sunday, but missed the Eagles' victory against Notre Dame. It took me more than two hours to reach the US Air ticket counter, and I did not see a single play.

Friends would call while I waited or text message with updates, but I did not see Winthrop win. And that's was the first-round game I wanted to see most, although Maryland-Davidson was compelling and, in its way, so was Virgina Commonwealth-Duke.

I had a convoluted Buffalo to Chicago to Spokane flight, 7 1/2 hours, worked out. But it didn't work out. Few flights out of Buffalo worked out Friday, the snow canceling flights to New York and Philadelphia and eventually almost everywhere else.

It's impossible to get through to USAirways, but Orbitz says I will leave Buffalo late Saturday afternoon on a direct flight to Charlotte. There's nothing available earlier. Not sure what I'll do today. There's always the gas station, the Sabres and the choppers.

The longer Patty Hearst was held hostage, the more she liked her captors. I don't see that happening.

My favorite Terrapin moment

The champion of North Carolina basketball is Maryland. The Terrapins are 7-0 against the state. They've beaten Duke and N.C. State twice and North Carolina, Wake Forest and Davidson once.

My favorite all-time Terrapin moment came in North Carolina. Chuck Driesell, now a Maryland assistant coach, was then the Maryland point guard. His dad, Lefty, was the head coach.

Needed a last second basket to beat the Tar Heels in Chapel Hill, Lefty ran a play for his kid. Nobody saw it coming and Chuck was open. Good move, Lefty. As Chuck went to the basket, North Carolina's Michael Jordan swooped in and blocked the shot, preserving the Tar Heel victory.

That wasn't my favorite Terp moment. This was.

After the game, the Maryland mascot walked into the Maryland locker room. Through the door you could hear Lefty's huge and furious voice.

"Get that damn turtle out of here!" he said.

Tip-off nears for NCAA tournament

It's about 30 minutes before Davidson and Maryland play the first game of Thursday's NCAA basketball tournament. No matter where you watch the games today - at work, at home, in a restaurant or bar, at the HSBC Center here in Buffalo - it will be a thrill.

It's a bigger thrill if your team is in the field and you travel to watch them. You have so much more to win and, of course, to lose.

Maryland is on the HSBC court first. Nobody cheers. Davidson runs out 57 minutes before tip-off, and fans in Sections 117 and 118 stand and clap and cheer.

"Boring!" a Maryland fan yells when Davidson's Max Paulhus Gosselin drives for Davidson's first warm-up basket and lays the ball up instead of slamming it down.

A Davidson fan sees me order a turkey burger in the concourse concession line and asks, "Dining with the proletariats?"

No way. I'm bringing it back to the press room. Since it's turkey, I know it will be safe.

The Davidson fans I talk to and listen to are happy and enthusiastic and nervous and utterly alive. If you're a fan of the sport and the tournament, how else can you feel?

Nobody has devised a better way to end a season, and I can't imagine they ever will.

When Coach K speaks...

One by one, the eight college coaches speak to the media Wednesday. The coach sits on a stage and the folks that ask the questions, newspaper guys and radio guys and TV guys, slouch in their folding chairs, stretch their legs and often walk out after deciding that (a) the coach has nothing to say or (b) it's time to fill another Styrofoam cup with free chips and peanuts.

But there's one exception, and that's Duke coach Mike Krzyzewski. It's as if the substitute teacher has gone and the real teacher has returned.

The media folks sit up straight, speak in complete sentences, don't slouch when they stand against the wall, tuck in their shirts, suck in their guts, react to every word as if it's essential and, for the first time in five hours, do not think about peanuts and chips.

Wonder if officials are similarly influenced?

Don't blame crying kid, blame dad

Two toddlers cried at Gate B1 Tuesday afternoon at Charlotte-Douglas International Airport as we awaited our flight to Buffalo. How did the kids know they were going to Buffalo?

The louder of the kids sat on the left side of the packed plane two rows in front of me. He started to cry before we left the ground and he continued to cry until we reached Lake Erie.

It's always sad when there's a crying kid on the plane.

But it's always funny when the kid is sitting directly behind a friend of yours.

The kid kicked, yelled, moaned, squirmed and fired off banshee like screams while the Charlotte Observer's David Scott sat stoicly in front of him.

I blame the dad for the kid's behavior. The kid wouldn't cry when he went to his mom on my side of the aisle. But he did not want to sit with the dad. The dad held him anyway.

The parents apparently didn't bring toys or books or snacks or videos. Everybody with a kid knows you bring his or her favorite stuff. When we ask energetic kids to sit passively for more than 90 minutes, they're entitled to a reward. At least give the kid a snack. Occupy him, engage him, tell him stories.

The only story I heard the dad say began with "Now" and ended with "Now." Here's the entire story: "Now, now."

I saw the dad pull out one book, and I don't even think it had pictures. It looked like an encyclopedia.

I tell you, if those parents don't do something soon, the kid will someday misbehave so badly that reporters will go to his neighbors to ask what drove him to do this, and the neighbors will say, "He was a loner."

The noise got so bad that I started to get up to ask David if he wanted to trade seats. But I didn't want to disturb the kid.

Teammate confirms Miller's range

I was talking to Wes Miller in the North Carolina locker room Friday about his shooting range, which he said is three or four steps behind the NBA three-point line. I had asked him how far he could shoot when he was in the gym or on the playground and coaches weren't watching.

"He can, too," says a man a few lockers down. "I've seen him."

Now, I knew the player talking to me was a Tar Heel basketball player since he was in the locker room and he was wearing a Tar Heel basketball uniform. News-gatherers such as myself are paid to figure these things out.

But I didn't know who he was. And I didn't want to ask him because nobody was asking Tyler Hansbrough who he was. We're kind of supposed to know.

Whomever the guy is, he's courteous, engaging, unpretentious and funny. He wanted to talk. It's not as if he was being swarmed by reporters. He initiated the conversation.

I thanked him for his time, went to the North Carolina media guide to look him up and couldn't find him. I went through it again and there he was, Mike Copeland, a sophomore from Winston-Salem.

Remember that name.

Razor sharp fan

After Miami's upset of Maryland, a thick man stood in front of the St. Pete Times Forum, one leg almost in the street, talking on a cell phone. The cell phone is called a razor. That detail is important, because this is what the guy said:

"I'm could cut him with a razor. I did it before."

I hope the man was talking about his cell phone. See, it could be that he is so facile and accomplished with the language that he planned to cut his alleged victim with his sharp tongue.

The other possibilities are that he craves attention, is dangerous and moronic or is simply a disgruntled Terps fan.